


Northern Downpour

by nesrynfaliq



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domesticity, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, post QoS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompts: rain kiss + finding the other wearing their clothes for Chaol/Nesryn. Chaol finds Nesryn alone on their balcony anxiously awaiting his late return from Anielle through war torn Erilea. </p>
<p>"Chaol feels himself sag against the doorframe. Gods, just the sight of her after so long and so much uncertainty, he can’t stop himself pausing just a moment longer to give himself a chance to drink her in, to savour every inch of her, to remind himself of every curve and scar, the way she holds herself, the way her hair falls around her face, the slope of her shoulders, the arch of her spine, all of the things he had tried to commit to memory when he left her he now realise he could never fully construct an image of her in his mind that could compare to the sight of her before him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Northern Downpour

Rifthold had been so many different things to him over the years. A refuge from home; then home itself, a place that had filled him with a sense of pride and purpose then the host of every nightmare that kept him awake for months. Now it’s a place of hope, with Dorian at its head, as its king, and home to the people he loves the most.

So when he at last reaches the far city gates, tired, splattered with mud and sore, the sight of it brings a smile to his weary lips. Urging his horse onwards he trots into the stables, allowing one of the nearby groomsmen to help him dismount then see his stallion to his stall.

 Everyone who works in the castle, especially places where he needs more help, knows about the limitations of his injuries but it still makes him a little uncomfortable sometimes, though they’re careful to guard the pity in their eyes but he can feel it in the lingering looks, the cautious way they continue to hover around him just in case. He tries to ignore them and turns towards the castle.

One of the stable boys hurries to him a moment later with his cane, apologising profusely, again and again, to the lord hand. Chaol smiles to him, tossing him a copper, and nods to the master watching anxiously behind them to see how he’s going to react, trying to put them at ease.  The dark memories of Dorian’s fathers rule are difficult to erase and escape and all of the servants still seem to expect to be flogged for any slight mistake.

He himself hasn’t gotten used to thinking of himself, or hearing himself addressed as ‘lord hand’ or having people bow to him. _Gods_ bow to him. So much had changed so quickly, he’s still struggling to adjust to it all. But he is, slowly, they all are, they’ve all had to.

The downpour prevents him lingering in the yard or gardens as long as he’d intended to drink in home and he hastens inside and then to Dorian’s rooms. The king leaps to his feet and hurries to embrace Chaol the moment he sees him, “I was getting worried about you,” he confesses, “We had word of trouble, I was going to send riders after you.”

Chaol snorts at the idea, “There was some trouble,” he admits, sorrow filling him at the memory of the guards who had died on account of that trouble but he quickly pushes it away, something he’ll consider later, when he’s alone with Nesryn and he has time to properly grieve and sort out his thoughts.

“I have a report for you-“he begins but Dorian shakes his head, “No, it’s late, it can wait until morning,” Chaol opens his mouth to insist that he’s fine, that he should hear his report but Dorian cuts across him, his voice lowering as he says, “Go to her,” and that’s all Chaol needs to hear before he’s bidding his friend goodnight and heading out.

His chambers are quiet and dark when he enters them. Scanning the room he takes in the near-dead embers smouldering in the grate and the sheets on the bed, twisted and rumpled, clearly implying that they’ve recently been vacated.

His eyes continue on to the light curtains, billowing into the room like the wind-swollen sails of a ship or the expanding lungs of a monstrous creature. Crossing to them he pauses in the mouth of the double doors that lead out onto their balcony and there she is, standing at the balcony rail, her back to him.

Chaol feels himself sag against the doorframe. Gods, just the sight of her after so long and so much uncertainty, he can’t stop himself pausing just a moment longer to give himself a chance to drink her in, to savour every inch of her, to remind himself of every curve and scar, the way she holds herself, the way her hair falls around her face, the slope of her shoulders, the arch of her spine, all of the things he had tried to commit to memory when he left her he now realise he could never fully construct an image of her in his mind that could compare to the sight of her before him.

Her inky curtain of sleek black hair falls around her face in long strings whipped around her head by the wind. The shirt she has on – his, he knows at a glance from the way it drowns her slight form, is plastered to her skin by the rain.

The dull ache in his chest that he’s been trying to ignore since they parted sharpens as he understands her wearing his clothes as an attempt to seek comfort in the scent that lingers on them in his absence and a rush of affection for her sweeps into him with the strength of a relentless ocean tide and propels him to her at last.

Easing his arms around her slim waist, he crosses his hands protectively over her stomach, drawing her back against him at the same time. Her scent envelopes him, the achingly familiar blend of mint and spice that makes his bones hum and feels, more than anything else, more than the city or the castle, his chambers or his bed, the scent of her, the feel of her in his arms again, is what makes him sure that he’s home.

Leaning in he nuzzles gently at the exposed skin of her neck, visible over the loose collar of her shirt and her expression softens as she takes him in, looking back at him over her shoulder. His fingers wind slowly through his hair, the gesture firm and possessive and she closes her eyes as she breathes him in.

“I missed you,” he whispers onto her skin, his throat tightening.

In answer she kisses him. Her mouth is warm and hungry and she quickly parts his lips with hers, her tongue pressing against his with an urgency that makes him tremble, telling him just how much she’d missed him too.

The rain entwines them together, isolating them from the world, letting him believe, if only for this moment, that all there is left is them and it’s all he wants, all he needs all he ever will. His hand lingers on her cheek when they finally break apart before she turns away, looking back out across the city again.

He clasps his hands over her abdomen again, drawing her in as close to him as he can, “You’re freezing, “he whispers to her as her hands settle on top of his, so much smaller and cold from the time she’s spent gripping on to the cold rail  but he welcomes her touch all the same.

She nestles back in to his warmth but makes no move to retreat inside and he doesn’t try and push her, he only holds her close, wrapping his cloak around her to try and warm her up a little. They’re quiet for a long time as he cradles her to him just savouring the feeling of being together again after what feels like an eternity apart.

He’s the first one to move again, dipping down and gently kisses the top of her head, murmuring onto her hair, “It’s late...Were you waiting for me?”

“No,” she breathes back, voice trembling with an emotion he can’t place, “I didn’t know you would be back tonight,” this time he picks up the fear and hears too the words she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say – I didn’t know if you would come back at all.

Before he can try and address her unspoken concerns he says, “I couldn’t sleep,” he tightens his embrace around her, seeking to shelter her from anything that might cause her pain or worry, the tension he had first seen in her now completely understandable and curls his hands over hers squeezing gently, trying to give her a little comfort.

He’s always been the more restless sleeper of the two of them. While he would lie away consumed with worries and doubts planning rebel missions, assaults on the tunnels, interrupted executions or rescues she would sleep soundly beside him, more at ease with the whims of fate and unwilling to dedicate time to brooding over things she couldn’t change.

But being forced to sit and do nothing but wait, with more dire news coming to them every day, never knowing if he’ll return...He knows how much that will have torn her apart. Suddenly the old shirt she has on, shrugged over a nightgown, the piece of him she has wrapped around her, explains itself more fully to him.

Whenever she had nightmares she would let him hold her, envelope her smaller body with his, shut out the world, smother every sense until all she was aware of was him. It was the only thing that could comfort her enough to sleep again. The shirt had been an attempt to replicate that, in case he never came home.

It hadn’t worked.

Guilt for what she’s been through wells up in him, compounded when he feels her small, deft hands grip his a little more tightly than necessary. He buries his face in her dark hair, drawing her in against them as though he wants nothing more than to meld them together into one being, one entity, so she never has to be parted from him again.

A moment later she turns to look at him, features suddenly sharp. Reaching up she cups his face between her hands, studying him closely, “You’re alright?” she whispers, voice tight and barely constrained, “You weren’t hurt?”

He knows she doesn’t really think it, knows it would have been the first thing out of her mouth if she had; some part of her just needs to hear him say it, and needs to look in his eyes as he does.

Gently, he takes her hands in his, tenderly stroking her cheek, watching her lean in to his touch as though she’ll never be able to have enough of it, “I’m fine, Nesryn, “he promises her quietly.

Nodding, silver lining her eyes, she turns to look back over the balcony once more, taking his rough, calloused hands in her smaller but equally marred ones she guides his arms around her once again and he obliges her without hesitation, tucking her body against his.

“I missed you too, Chaol,” she whispers, a tremble running through her, the wind nearly stealing her words from him but he feels them vibrating through her as she continues, “We received reports saying there was trouble in Anielle. Fights, deaths, assassination attempts. I knew some of it, most of it was exaggerated and just rumour but I thought, gods, I thought-“her voice quivers and dies and he envelopes her in him, wishing he could banish the demons that snapped at her heels in the shadows and soothe and quiet every restless fear that infected her soul like a storm tossed sea.

“I’m alright,” he breathes gently, resting his chin on her head as he quietly strokes her hair, “I’m fine. I’m safe. Everything was okay,”

“It might not have been,” she bites out, “And then I- Without you-“she falters again, closing her eyes and trying to control herself.

“You would survive just fine without me,” he murmurs into her hair, squeezing her tightly.

“Don’t,” she snaps, voice brittle and clipped, “Just don’t, Chaol,” she takes a deep breath that rattles in her chest and shudders through him too, making him acutely aware of the weight of emotion crushing through her, “I don’t want to just _survive,”_ she says faintly, “Not any more. That’s not enough anymore. The thought of you-“she breaks off, unable to say it out loud.

“Nesryn-“he murmurs, voice coaxing and soft.

“I hate it,” she grits out, her words harsh and cold in contrast but weaker when she whispers again, “I hate it.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his breath hot on the top of her head.

 She shifts in his arms and turns to face him again, her rich velvet dark eyes blazing, “I love you,” she tells him, an oath and an order all at once as she shakes her head, “I love you and I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says, quiet but firm, tenderly stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She grips his hand tightly in hers, “Promise me,” she whispers as lightning cleaves the sky above them in two but her eyes remain fixed solely on him, “Promise me, Chaol.”

“I promise,” he murmurs to her, looking down at their joined hands as he does so.

Standing on her toes she presses her forehead against his, her breathing turning ragged as she wraps her arms slowly and deliberately around him, as though she can drag out this moment with him to last an eternity, to consume the rest of their lives so that they can remain in this moment forever until they crumble to ash and are swept together into the storm that’s threatening to unleash its rage upon their world.  

Eyes closed she buries her head against his chest, a silent request to hold her, to just hold her and damn the world and the odds and everything that isn’t them for a little while longer at least. He does and they hold each other close while the rain thunders in a crescendo around them, isolating them from everything as though even the gods wish to grant them this one small happy memory with each other before the war sweeps in once more.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback is very much encouraged :)


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